


Winter Song

by MissSunFlower94



Series: To Keep Me Warm [1]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Fluff and Angst, this is my response to the cold weather I've been having
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3466442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Butterflies migrate in the winter. I suspect fairies do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was Stuff and Thang who told him, unsurprisingly. News from the mushrooms and all. Marianne had once told him that he needed a new source for getting news from throughout his kingdom – a more reliable source – and every time his two servants came with something new he wondered why he hadn’t yet listened to her.

All those thoughts, however, vanished when he heard the message.

“Queen Marianne is leaving.”

“She’s not Que-“ he had begun tiredly before the words actually hit him. “What? What do you mean leaving? She’s not here.” Midafternoon as it was, Bog didn’t expect to see her for several hours yet. It was her evenings, her nights, that he had laid claim to as they currently stood. Someday he hoped for more permanency than that, but he had learned some patience.

They fluttered about themselves, seeming to know that this news was going to upset them. They whispered frantically, and Bog knew they were arguing about who should say the next part. Even his snapping ‘I’m waiting’ didn’t get the reply right away. That wasn’t a good sign. Finally Stuff cleared her throat. "Mushrooms said she was on her side of the primroses, talking to her sister, something about rehearsing how she was going to tell you that she was leaving… you,” he ended, coughing awkwardly.

“ _What_?”

Bog felt himself go cold. He distantly heard himself dismiss them both, harsh enough it seemed that they had no parting remarks as they left – only wishing to get away as soon as they could. He leaned back against his throne, rubbing his face and trying not to shake. The mushrooms were often wrong, the message often got muddled up, there had to be something missing in the translation, but all of these rational thoughts were liberally covered up by the validation of all of his worst insecurities and nightmares since he and Marianne had begun their courtship.

But, before he could lose himself too much into this despair, he heard the flutter wings he recognized and his eyes shot open. Marianne landed, having come from the skylight that was all but her official entrance. He stood instantly, looking her over. She looked uncomfortable and a little frustrated.

“I take it you’ve already heard?” She said, by way of greeting. “I thought about that but I was hoping I’d make it quicker than that. Whatever else can be said for your information system, it is fast.”

Bog was still staring at her, waiting for the blow to come. “You’re leaving.”

“Not for another few weeks,” she said, awkwardly trying to smile as if that was a consolation. “Packing everything takes time, and preparing – it’s a long flight.”

It took Bog another few seconds to process that Marianne wasn’t talking about leaving him, not in the way he had been told or the way he had feared. Rather, she was leaving his forest… and her fields. She was, truly, physically leaving.

It did nothing to calm him down.

“But you…  _are_  leaving?”

She picked at her dress, not meeting his eye, and spoke quickly. “I know – I’m not any happier about it than you are, believe me. It just came out of nowhere, didn’t it? I mean I knew it was autumn but I thought we still had… more, you know? I didn’t even realize until this morning when my dad was talking about preparations and.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I thought I should tell you – figured you must have lost track of time, too.”

Bog had the distinct feeling that he was losing grip on a conversation he hadn’t truly grasped from the beginning and tried to find something in that near incomprehensible explanation to ask. “You’re… all leaving?”

“Well of course we’re all leaving. That’s how we’ve always done it, you know?”

“No,” he said, flatly.

“Well, I mean, the elves don’t but – oh and you should hear Dawn going on about leaving Sunny behind when it would be so easy to bring him along! Well maybe not  _easy_  but more than what  _we_ ’v-“ Marianne stopped suddenly, seeming to have realized what he had said. “Wait. What do you mean ‘ _no_ ’? You know what’s going on.”

“I don’t, in fact,” Bog said. “An’ if you’d be so kind and tell me maybe I could stop bein’ so lost.”

Marianne was staring at him, the brave smile vanishing from her face. “Great skies,” she whispered. “You really don’t know?”

“No,” he said, softer now as he saw how much this affected her. He had no idea what was going on still and was growing a little impatient, but Marianne was unhappy. And that was never a good sign.

She began to pace in front of him, a sign of her nerves that he recognized now. “I just- I assumed you knew, I mean, you  _had_  to know. How can you  _not_  know? I know our kingdoms have been isolated for, like, as long as anyone can remember but something like migration – it’s ridiculous! How do you miss something that big, honestly?”

Bog watched her, increasingly frantic, at her somewhat nonsensical ranting. “Wha- I- Marian- what d’you mean migration?”

She ignored him. “Oh, and all these years of dad going on and  _on_  about how we have to make sure the palace is extra secure before we can go because we couldn’t have the goblin kingdom trying to ransack us while we’re vulnerable and all this time you didn’t even KNOW.” She laughed, sounding slightly hysterical.

Bog finally took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. “Marianne,” he said, stooping to look her in the eye. “Just tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Her shoulders slumped a little but she nodded. “What do goblins do in the winter?”

Though taken aback, he was aware that she was, at last, getting to the point and so obliged. “A lot of things, really. Goblins vary, you know. Most usually stay somewhere enclosed and wait it out – the castle would be closed off for the winter months. I know a few will hibernate. There are even a few that thrive in the cold.” He gave a half-hearted shrug. “It varies.”

When Marianne said nothing to that Bog played back their conversation and softly ventured. “An’ fairies… migrate.” It wasn’t a question.

Marianne nodded. Her large brown eyes were wide and she blinked a little rapidly – fighting off tears he realized, a little horrified. “We don’t- do cold,” she said bluntly. “We’ve migrated so long I don’t really know what staying does to us but it’s not- good. We go to the south – we’ve got a winter palace on a lake and-“

“How long?”

She fidgeted. “Four months.”

“Four m- _months_?” He spluttered, shocked.

She fidgeted more, her voice dropping to a mumble. “Four to six, if the winter’s bad.”

“ _Six_! That’s- that’s half the year!”

“I know,” Marianne groaned, uncomfortable. “It’s rare that we’re gone that long, it really is, but… worst case, you know.”

Bog’s mind was reeling, hardly following her words anymore. Stuck on the idea that Marianne would be gone for months, away, apart from him. For  _months_. They had had over six months together as it were, but they were still very much in the early stages of their courtship. For all that his subjects called her their queen neither of them were rushing into anything too concrete anytime soon. Mostly, they were still in the stage of pinching themselves near constantly, in awe of the knowledge that they were, in fact, in love and were, in fact, loved in return. Bog had a feeling he, at least, would be in that stage for a long time to come.

Losing her for a week was enough to send him back into barrels of self-doubt, make him think that perhaps, surrounded once more by her kind, she would come to her senses. She wouldn’t return.

He didn’t think he could survive half a year of that.

She was watching him, a bit of irritation creeping back into her face. She crossed her arms. “How didn’t you know this?” she asked again.

Now it was his turn to be uncomfortable. “I knew- I mean, I’d noticed you got more…  _active_  in the spring but that was attributed to some –probably stereotyped ideas about mating season- Don’t.” He added, holding up a hand before Marianne could produce a sarcastic retort. She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips but said nothing. “Or to you sheltering yourself in the winter. I never would have thought you-“ he faltered on the word _left_.

“And this is why isolationism is not a good diplomatic policy,” she said, sounding disgusted.

“So I’ve learned,” he said. After a pause he coughed. “So you really, absolutely…  _have_  to go?”

She threw up her hands. “Weren’t you listening? We all have to!” He opened his mouth and she cut him off. “And yes, I know the two of us are all about breaking conventions and traditions between our kingdoms right now but I’d prefer not to mess with the one that leads to my potential  _death_  thank you.”

They were both silent again, flinching at the words. Marianne had danced around the outcome of fairies that had stayed in cold climates, around  _death_ , when she explained before and it was clear in that moment why she had; the idea, even the brief mention of it, hit Bog as physically as any one of her punches might have. He staggered back, slightly, sitting heavily in his throne.

He closed his eyes for a moment and heard Marianne sigh. “Listen, I’m not happy about this, you know that. I don’t want to leave- I don’t want to leave  _you_. And if I’d known you didn’t know I would have warned you about this sooner.” Bog felt her touch his hand and opened his eyes, looking down at it. He shifted so he could take her hand in his. Her skin was warm but he could see, too easily see, how her soft, smooth, vulnerable skin would not take to the winter. He squeezed her hand and released it. “I should have said something earlier anyways,” she added, unhappily. “I mean it’s something we should have  _discussed_  before I just dropped in like this. You shouldn’t-“ she stopped herself, hugging her arms around herself.

“Shouldn’t wha’?” he asked before you could help himself, chagrined by how upset he had made her.

She made an impatient gesture and spoke with a forced casualness that fooled no one. “Have to wait on someone for months.  _Every_  year. I know it’s not something people look for in their lovers- and I,“ She shook her head, trying to smile. “I just don’t want you to feel… trapped, you know.”

Bog wave his hands frantically. “Mari- no! No, no, that’s not- I don’t mind that. Well, I mean, I don’t want you to go but I don’t-“ he trailed off, unsure how to say exactly how he felt about the whole situation, just that he wanted to reassure her. He would wait, happily, if it meant she would come back.

It was only that he still worried someday that she would not.

At the thought he froze, suddenly aware that it mirrored  _her_  words exactly. That her fears matched his own insecurities about being apart from her near perfectly and he almost laughed. Instead, he covered his face with one palm and groaned. Looking up he saw Marianne eying him questioningly and said, “We are both such fools.”

She blinked, but appeared to catch on to his meaning because her next smile was far more genuine. “Well, you’re not wrong.” Bog moved, allowing her to come and sit on the edge of his throne, not quite in his lap but near enough. Her favorite spot when holding court or dealing with official business. “I  _really_  don’t want to go,” she told him. He knew it, but it was nice to hear all the same.

“I could… come with?” He suggested, knowing it wasn’t an option even as he said it. Marianne didn’t bother replying with anything but a soft incredulous ‘ _hah!_ ’ He was a king, for one. And for another, he would be surrounded by fair folk. For months. It may not be quite as torturous as being without her, but not by much. “When do you go?”

“Not for a fortnight, yet. There’s a lot of preparation that goes into it.” She made a disgusted noise. “Not to mention that we’ll also be having a party the night before we leave. A send off of sorts. The last night in the fields.” She snorted and he smiled, amused as always by her complete dislike of her kingdom’s balls and parties. With how many they seemed to hold, he could understand. She sighed, and settled back against him. “I’ll have to go, of course, but I’ll be sure to slip away early.”

“Oh?”

“Oh yes." She twisted so she could face him, smiling a  _real_  smile – the kind that sparkled wickedly in her eyes – for the first time since she had come in. “I have every intention of spending my last night with you,  _with you_.”

Bog lost whatever he was going to say to that as she leaned in and kissed him, and only pulled her closer, savoring it all the more now that he knew they only had so many left. He had no doubt they’d make every one count. He trusted her. He loved her. They could do this.

And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.


	2. Chapter 2

It was every bit as bad as Marianne had feared.

Sure she’d put on a brave face around Bog, told him – and herself – that it would be fine. Four months (Marianne outright refused to accept that she might be away longer than four months), they could do that.

Worst of it all, was that Bog hadn’t even _known_ about migration and so on top of everything else, Marianne felt enormously guilty for not having warned him about her inevitable departure. Oh, it had hurt to see him react when she finally told him, it hurt to know that he, like her, was putting up a wall of bravado, trying to tell himself that it would be alright to be apart for so long when they were still so new to this whole relationship, to this love thing. They’d made the last weeks count as thoroughly as they could, but it had to come to an end. He sent her off, all shuffling and awkwardness and quivering smiles. Both telling each other it wouldn’t be so awful.

It was. At least as far as Marianne was concerned. It felt silly to be so affected by the distance but acknowledging it didn't make her feel any less unhappy. She had always placed herself above lovelorn sighs and the poetic sorrow that ballads were made of in the past, never thought she’d let herself love someone so much that would ever be a problem. And yet, she had.

Everyone in her kingdom knew she was unhappy and why. Marianne spent the months in a near constant restless frustration, taking it out with extended sparring matches with her handmaidens – who were all extremely out of practice since, after she had met Bog, she hadn’t needed them for her training. She spent most of her days away from most people, except for Dawn. It was a different kind of isolated than she had been when Roland had hurt her, but it was still obviously a heartache.

Nights were the worst. Her days were easy enough to forget about; she spent those in the fields and with her kingdom anyways. It was nights that had she spent with Bog. Moonlit fights and long conversations, him showing her every secret spot in his kingdom – letting her explore and experience it for herself. Bog explained every inch of his kingdom, every rule, every notable place or fact, with a surety she had never seen from any other ruler; certainly her father tried to play an active part in his kingdom but Marianne knew for a fact there was much about his people and about the fields that he didn’t know.

For that matter, her father was little help. While his attempts to get her – well, to get both his daughters – to be more social obviously came from a good place, Marianne couldn’t help but feel like there was also a vindictive desire to parade her around more fairy men while she was without her lover, as if personally trying to disprove the old idiom about what absence did to hearts.

Dawn was her one comfort in the migration. Apparently she and Sunny had decided to try the separation out this year, see how bad it was and plan around that for future years. By the way her sister carried on about missing her best friend and beau, Marianne suspected Sunny would be present in all migrations to come.

“You’ll forgive me for being jealous,” Marianne had said when Dawn hesitantly brought this up at the Midwinter ball. Both sisters hung back, dancing with each other and no one else. Dawn had smiled and hugged her sister around the shoulders.

At four months and two weeks, news reached the winter palace that the flowers were beginning to bud out again. In theory this was the sign that it was time for the migration to move north again although, historically they would stay anywhere from a few weeks to an entire month extra just be sure.

This year, however, Marianne wasn’t going to have it.

“Marianne,” her father said plaintively. “There’s no guarantee that it’s safe yet.”

“It’s been safe years before,” she said. “We’ve weathered cold snaps in every year before – spring is a messy season all around. There’s been snow a month from summer before. We know how to stay sheltered for it.” When he looked ready to argue she threw up her hands. “Dad, please. I just want to go home.”

They were quiet and Marianne knew they were both thinking about the fact that the home she referred to in that moment was not the palace and the fields.

He sighed. “At least, give me another week to get things prepared. And please wait and leave with the procession – I don’t need you haring off and getting into trouble.”

Glowing with triumph, she hugged him. “Now dad, when have I ever gotten into trouble?” She said, grinning more when he groaned.

And, when the time came, she did fly with the migration procession as he wished, although the entire journey seemed slower and more harrowing than it ever had before. Her wings were sore and she was badly tired by the time they returned to the fields, just two weeks before the spring equinox.

“You should rest,” Dawn told her when they set down at the palace, though Marianne knew very well that she wasn’t going to follow her advice and was already fidgeting, antsy to go find her own love.

Marianne stretched her wings wincing as they ached. “Oh I will,” she said, cheerfully. “Just not here.” Her sister tried to make an ‘ew’ face but was smiling too hard for it to be of any use.

“Tell Boggy hi for me, then!”

She’d gone back to the ledge, and smiled back. “Tell Sunny the same. I’ll see you tomorrow!” And with that, she was off as fast as her wings could carry her.

Flying low, she caught sight of several goblin sentries around the newly blooming primroses. Since the events of the spring before, everyone had learned that perhaps love potions were not a very practical idea and so the risk of someone stealing a petal or two was significantly lower than it had been before. Bog had kept the decree that primroses be cut down in the spring, although he didn’t put as much effort into its execution. Still, it was amusing to watch the four goblins laze about, making no real attempt at doing their jobs.

Smiling, she called down, “You’re getting slow! Just think what your king would say if he saw you!”

They all started, looking around until she landed as gracefully as she could with sore wings and stood, hands on her hips grinning wickedly. It made her heart lift to see their faces all brighten at the sight of her.

“Queen Marianne! You’ve returned!”

For once she didn’t feel like correcting them. Let her be their queen. Let this be her home. In hindsight, being apart from the Dark Forest had felt nearly as painful as being away from the Bog King.

“Are you goin’ to see the king, then?” One added.

“I am,” she said. “But, oh. Don’t- don’t tell him, okay?” None of them seemed to understand the concept of a surprise, but they knew an order and nodded. “Keep up the good work,” she added, and took flight again.

Not a quarter of the way into the forest she over heard the mushrooms’ passing whisper of “The queen has returned – don’t tell the king.” She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that her lover would probably end up knowing she was back one way or another before she could give him the news in person.

Still hoping to at least catch him off guard, Marianne landed outside and found the backdoor entrance she never used, walking where he could not feel or listen for the sound of her wings. She snuck through the back halls toward the throne room, her heart contracting the first she heard Bog’s voice a muffled echo through the walls – sound traveled well in his castle – and the familiar brogue that came out strong when he was irritated. He was arguing with Stuff and Thang, she noted fondly.

Once words began to reach her, she realized that they had gotten the mushrooms message, only that it had been somehow horribly misconstrued in the translation. She nearly laughed aloud; she had forgotten that possibility. She took a moment to stop, leaning in the back doorway, just where she could see his figure only partly obscured by the throne, and waited. Let it never be said that she didn’t know how to make an entrance.

She waited until he dismissed the two of them – she could greet them later – and then called out. “Four months and you _still_ couldn’t set up a better information system? Do I have to do everything?”

Marianne watched, gleeful, as he went positively rigid with shock. He turned, slowly, moving to where he could see her properly. Even in the distance, even in the dim light, she could see the blue of his eyes, wide. His mouth was open slightly, and she noticed the craggy thorns around his jaw had grown more disheveled like he hadn’t shaved or some such – she’d never really considered how that worked. He looked tired and worn, like he hadn’t slept for some time. The old grumpy king of an old dark kingdom.

He was the most beautiful sight she’d seen in months. She had spent the past four months thinking of things to say to him and in that moment she couldn’t think of a single thing. She just smiled at him, her heart full.

“M- _Mari_?” He managed at last.

She wiggled her fingers. “Hi.” Bog was still staring at her, seeming beyond words. Idly she hoped she hadn’t actually damaged him with this surprise. After a few more seconds of silence she coughed. “So! Aren’t you going to say ‘welcome ba-‘”

There was the clatter of his staff as it hit the ground, the buzzing of his wings and the gust of wind and that was all the warning Marianne had before Bog was before her, pulling her into an embrace and lifting her clear off her feet. She squeaked, immediately wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him as tightly as he was her. His arms were crushing her sore wings but she couldn’t care.

He buried his face against her neck, and she could hear him saying her name repeatedly as if it were all he could manage to say. She felt laughter bubble up inside her and managed to say, breathlessly. “Yes, I missed you too, but I’d like to breathe, if that’s alright with you.”

Instantly she was released and she grinned up at Bog as he awkwardly fumbled through an apology. “Oh- I’m- I’m sorry! I didn’t are you alright- I” He caught her playful grin and cleared his throat. “Well, I- ah. Welcome home.”

Her smile dimpled, and she pulled him close again. “Happy to be home,” she returned, kissing him. He responded eagerly, bringing his arms around her again, more careful of her wings this time. She let a hand drift to stroking his cheek and noticed, with the addition to whatever the thorns on his chin were, he had something soft and moss-like growing patchily over his jaw. It was… different, an interesting contrast to his rough lips and sharp fangs.

Pulling away she continued to pat it somewhat perplexed. “This is new,” she murmured. Looking at him closely like this she could see it, a soft greenish fuzz growing unevenly on his jaw.

Bog straightened a little, not meeting her eye. “Yes, well I- ah. Let it go a little more than… usual. You don’t think it makes me look…” he brought a hand from around her to make a vague questioning gesture. “…Distinguished?” He ended.

Marianne snorted. “It makes you look _old_ ,” she said bluntly. “And kind of decaying, you know. I don’t want you falling apart while I’m gone, you know.”

“You say the sweetest things, my queen” Bog said, dryly. She smiled sweetly. By every star, she had missed him. “So you don’t like it?”

“It’s hideous.”

“Then why are you still touching it?”

She had been, she realized and quickly dropped her hand, and pretened to ignore his smirk. “It’s… curious.”

“So you like it?”

“It’s hideous.”

Bog laughed outright and drew her close again.  Marianne forgot any of her protests about kissing his dumb scraggily face at the warmth of his mouth on hers and smile she could feel turned into its corners, at the delicious sensation of his fingers running through her hair, at the familiar sensations that came with being with him, with being in the castle, in the Dark Forest.

She might always hate migration. It might always be hard.

But she knew then that she would never get tired of coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think in the years to come, Bog and Marianne figure out how to keep her healthy in the winter in the forest and she stops migrating. But that's some time down the road.


End file.
